


Barriers Broken

by frek



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, M/M, Pre-Slash, Ron Weasley/Draco Malfoy Fuh-Q-Fest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-07-25
Updated: 2004-07-25
Packaged: 2017-10-28 09:07:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/306243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frek/pseuds/frek
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco has been hurt and ends up in the hospital.  Ron is assigned to care for him. (preslash)`</p>
            </blockquote>





	Barriers Broken

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2004 RW/DM Fuh-Q-Fest.

Ron Weasley slipped between the rows of beds, each occupied by a wizard afflicted with one injury or another. It had been several months since the war broke out in the Wizarding World. Ron had spent the first month out on the battlefield, in combat against Death Eaters and other dark wizards. But after being hit by a curse early on, he found himself off the front lines and in the hospital.

While locked away in the hospital wards, Ron had decided to join the staff of medi-witches and wizards. He hated the idea of going back to fight, but still wanted to help.

Since then, he had seen many wizards come in and out of the beds he was now watching. There were so many faces and injuries, they all blended together, blurring until he couldn't tell one from another. Every face seemed the same, every injury like the last.

It was a strange feeling, Ron thought, to feel so numb towards the pain and suffering around him. He remembered a time when just the thought of another's pain would upset him. Things had definitely changed.

Ron slipped around a corner, facing another row of beds, another row of faces and injuries. His gaze roamed over the people resting, albeit uncomfortably, and settled on an all too familiar face. White blond hair – usually slicked back – now a dirty mess around his face. Aristocratic features – at one point fair and refined – worn and sullied. And despite the hapless appearance of the other man, Ron still felt the rising of hatred in his gut just seeing him once more. Echoes of a lifetime of insults and pain kept filling his mind. Ron sighed, stepping towards the bed; he couldn't let his past get in the way of his job.

Once he was at the foot of the other man's bed, Ron reached down to pick up the chart. Ron's eyes followed the lines of written information, some things familiar – like his name – Draco Malfoy. Other things were surprising. One thing that really threw Ron off was Malfoy's classification. He had been expecting the initials D.E. next to the word, but instead saw D.A. Malfoy was on the side of good, not a Death Eater.

Ron read further down the chart, wanting to know what exactly placed Malfoy within this ward. His eyes widened with surprise as he learned of Malfoy's last few hours on the battlefield. He had experienced more than the typical share of curses thrown from behind a shield. Malfoy had been hit with the Cruciatus Curse and had been held under it for several minutes. He had been found unconscious on the battlefield, and without a wand.

Ron sighed, dropping the chart back in place, gazing once more into the face of his old enemy. His eyes were closed and probably had been for some time now. His cheeks were hollow and bruised, as were his arms. Apparently he had suffered much more than the Cruciatus. Ron noticed that Draco's usual smirk wasn't even visible on his slack, worn face. He looked a much nicer person like this than Ron ever remembered him to be. Ron passed one last gaze over the man before turning to check on the others in the ward.

As Ron took care of the wizards in his ward his thoughts kept slipping back to Malfoy. The last he had heard about the man, he was en route to becoming a model Death Eater, just like his father. Ron wondered what had caused Draco to forego the expected path and become a member of Dumbledore's Army. In doing so, Ron thought, did Draco even have contact with his family anymore?

\- - - - -

Ron spent the better part of his week at the hospital in Malfoy's ward. He'd spend his time taking care of the others, sneaking glances at the man and wondering who exactly landed him in the hospital. But mostly, he wondered why Malfoy had changed. Why he decided against being a Death Eater – against his family. Ron couldn't wait for the day he could have his questions answered – if Draco would answer them.

He had been assigned to feed the wizards in Malfoy's ward the day that Malfoy woke. Ron had been passing out dishes filled with soup or broth to the unfortunate residents and was getting ready to spoon some broth into Malfoy's mouth when his grey eyes opened. Ron's own eyes widened in surprise at the sudden movement in the man he had grown accustomed to seeing motionless.

He had gotten so used to seeing Malfoy's closed eyes, slack mouth, and wan cheeks; he was actually beginning to think the peaceful expression represented the real Draco. To be confronted with Malfoy's cold, grey eyes threw Ron off. The contemptuous expression he was presented with was much more than Ron had expected to see from the man he had cared for much of the past week. Yet here he was, faced with Malfoy's narrowed eyes and thinned lips. He apparently didn't enjoy the idea of Ron being by his side.

Ron stood up quickly, his eyes locked with Malfoy's, placing the small dish on the bedside table. He definitely wasn't prepared for the altercation he felt building up between the two of them. As Malfoy continued to glare at Ron, Ron's hand slid over the smooth, worn handle of his wand, his fingers itching to pull it out and cast something – anything – at Malfoy. Ron struggled against the urge to hurt Malfoy, his common sense arguing with his desire to exact revenge for so many years of torment.

Ron watched the muscles in Malfoy's jaw line begin to work, Malfoy's mouth moving to form words, but the voice coming out was barely a whisper. Ron sighed lightly, raising his wand and Summoning a glass of water from across the room. He caught it with his free hand and offered the glass to Malfoy, who simply narrowed his eyes further at the offering. Ron sighed once more before placing the glass next to his bowl of broth and turning away from the bed. As much as he wanted to know the answers to his questions, he didn't have the time or patience to sit and listen to Malfoy's petty whining and arguments that were sure to come.

\- - - - -

Ron stepped through the doorway into Malfoy's ward, pulling behind him a cart piled with bowls of soup and glasses of water. It was lunchtime once more in the hospital. And as was routine, Ron had been assigned to serve the food to the patients sentenced to their beds.

The last week had been pretty much uneventful as far as Malfoy was concerned. Ron would take care of Malfoy as he would any of the other patients, trying to ignore the comments and glares that were sent his way. Ron had managed to keep himself civil whenever insults had tainted the blond's quick tongue. He hated not fighting back, but knew it best that he keep himself restrained lest he cause Malfoy to suffer any more than he already had.

Ron sighed, moving from bed to bed, placing the soup and water on the bedside tables. He consciously kept his gaze from Malfoy, deliberately looking across the room or at the floor, whenever he felt the other man's eyes on him. As he approached Malfoy's bed, though, he knew that the game wouldn't last much longer. He picked up a bowl and a glass and proceeded to carry it over to Malfoy's bedside table.

"Oh, there you are, Weasley," Malfoy spoke, his voice laced with the same contempt that Ron could see in his eyes. "I was wondering when you lot would feed me."

Ron gritted his teeth as he placed the dishes on the table, trying to think of better, happier things than Malfoy demeaning him and the hospital.

"Not that this food is worth even eating. My house elves ate better than this," Malfoy continued, eyeing the food beside him.

Ron turned to the cart, glancing back momentarily. When he did, he noticed Malfoy struggling to sit up; apparently the table was just too far from him. Ron sighed, turning back to Malfoy. He lifted his wand, ready to move the table nearer the bed.

"I don't need any help," Malfoy cut in before Ron even had a chance to speak the charm. "Least of all from a Weasley," he added as an afterthought.

Ron bit his lip. Hard. He could taste blood in his mouth. A thousand different comebacks jumped to the front of his mind; he could really hurl something at Malfoy. Ron knew he had the power to really knock the man down a few pegs. All it took was a few words.

Ron could feel his ears burning; he knew that if he didn't calm down he would say something he'd regret. Or maybe not. Ron shrugged off the nagging feeling that he should leave well enough alone and spoke.

"It's not like you have anyone else to help you," Ron said steadily, his voice low, on the edge of control. All it took was one more word from Malfoy and he could be screaming.

Malfoy crossed his arms and continued to glare at Ron, his expression as cold and hateful as it ever was.

"Look," Ron began once more, wondering why he was even attempting to speak to Malfoy. "You don't even have your family any more. Your father? He probably doesn't even think of you as his son now. Seriously, Malfoy! What do you have?" Ron simply couldn't understand it. The man was at his lowest and he still acted as if he ruled over the Wizarding World.

Malfoy's gaze met Ron's as he began to speak. "My pride," came Malfoy's sullen response.

Ron's eyes widened as Malfoy spoke. He nearly threw his arms over his head in irritation at the response. Ron turned back to the cart. Pausing as he reached it, he spoke to Malfoy. "Yeah, bloody lot of good that's doing you," he replied turning back to the ward, away from the bed and its insufferable inhabitant.

\- - - - -

Malfoy remained in the ward for another week, slowly recovering from the torture. He could eat solid food and drink something other than water. His condition had even improved to the point that he was becoming mobile once more. And all the while that Malfoy was getting better, he continued to harass and degrade Ron with his usual barrage of snide comments. Ron endured the rude comments that seemed to be Malfoy's only consistency, if only to keep his work at the hospital. Though, Ron thought often, the minute Malfoy had fully recovered, he would take him out with every curse he could plant on the man. Or just walk away from the situation, tired and beat, ignoring the nagging sensation in the back of his mind to fight back.

"Don't touch me, Weasel!" Malfoy cried, pushing Ron's hand off his arm.

Ron sighed, taking a step away from Malfoy. It had been fifteen days since he had shown up in the hospital and he was being moved from Ron's ward to a private room. His recovery had been great, and the mediwitches felt that Malfoy would be better suited on his own now that he was able to move about with some help. Some help being the key words.

This was why Ron was attempting to escort Malfoy back to the room they had assigned him, without much success. Malfoy still wasn't strong enough to walk very far on his own, but he was much too stubborn to allow anyone help him. Especially Ron, as Malfoy made very obvious to the observing witches and wizards.

Ron kept a step behind Malfoy as they walked down the wide hallway, Ron's footsteps echoing off the walls in chorus with Malfoy's shuffling steps. He watched as Malfoy stumbled over his own slipper-clad feet, nearly tumbling over on the polished floor. Ron jumped forward, wrapping an arm around the man's waist and placing his other hand on Malfoy's arm. He helped Malfoy to his feet and tried to help him walk.

Once again, Malfoy pushed Ron away from him, refusing any assistance he was given. "How many times do I have to say it?" He stared back at Ron, his face red with frustration. "Don't touch me. I. Don't. Need. Your. Help." Malfoy turned back to his feet, and continued to walk on, shuffling forward like an old man without a cane. His blonde hair hung limply over his face, hiding his features and the concentration in his eyes as he attempted to hold to his word.

Ron sighed heavily, wondering why he tried, even though he knew the answer. It was his job. Even if he hated Malfoy as much as he wished he did, he still would have to help the man. Ron just wished that Malfoy wasn't such a difficult patient.

\- - - - -

"Hey, Weasel," Malfoy called as Ron turned to leave the room, having just finished settling him into the bed moments ago.

Ron rolled his eyes, looking back to face Malfoy. "What is it?" He asked wearily.

"Get me that." Malfoy pointed to a book placed on a dresser across the room.

Ron raised an eyebrow at Malfoy. "I thought you didn't need help from a Weasley," Ron pointed out, attempting to leave the room.

"Well, I changed my mind. I thought that if you're going to be trying to be all goody goody and help me, I may as well take advantage of the situation." He paused, his pale eyes narrowing on Ron, "Now get me that book."

Ron sighed once more, pulling out his wand to Summon the book to Malfoy.

"No," Malfoy stopped him. "Hand it to me... Now."

Ron bit his lip, trying to keep his mouth shut. He decided he'd much rather have Malfoy uncooperative than needy. This little game was going to get old very fast. He slid his wand into his pocket and stalked over to the table, picking up the book. He walked it over to Malfoy, dropping the volume in the man's lap.

"There," Ron said shortly. "Happy?" Sarcasm tainted the words as they left his tongue.

Draco smiled smugly back at Ron. "Very."

Ron turned to leave the room mumbling under his breath as he walked to the door, "Prick."

"I heard that," Draco called after him.

\- - - - -

Ron patrolled the dark halls where the only sounds he heard were his own steady footsteps. The echoes of sound from his steps followed him down the hallway. It sounded as if someone was following him. The feeling that it was happening would start as a nagging feeling at the back of his mind, turning quickly into a chill that followed the length of his spine. After several moments of panic coursing through his body and seizing his chest, Ron would let his nerves get to him and quicken his pace down the hall.

The hospital's halls were too quiet for any one person to be walking them alone. Ron quickly came to that realization as he passed the dark rooms, filled with sleeping wizards. Each of them was lost in their dreams, far off from the reality that they faced during the day. The only sound Ron could hear from the occupied rooms was that of the patients' steady breathing and their occasional snores.

Those rhythmic sounds lulled Ron into a sort of daze. He was so lost to the world around him that when someone made a real sound, it frightened Ron so badly he nearly fell to the ground.

"No, Father!" came a voice just a few short doors down the hall.

Ron leaned against the cool stone wall, feeling his heart race nearly out of his chest. As he tried to steady his nerves, he listened for further outbursts. His ears met with a quiet voice, a young man's frightened whimper. Ron recognized the voice as belonging to Malfoy. It seemed strange to him, though, that the tough-skinned Pureblood who feared nothing would be plagued by nightmares.

Ron knew well from his time at the hospital that nightmares were very common to those who had experienced the Cruciatus curse at length. But somehow, despite this knowledge, Ron still expected Malfoy to be immune to such things as nightmares and fear. As Ron thought about that, he realized just how childish his imagery of Draco Malfoy was.

Having not seen Malfoy since completing Hogwarts, Ron never had a chance to develop an adult's perspective on the man. And until now, Ron still felt that age-old hatred towards Malfoy that he had felt all his life. Seeing Malfoy again at the hospital was like being back at Hogwarts. But as Ron headed towards Malfoy's room, the moon lighting the floor before him, he realized that his views on the man had to change, just as he did.

Ron stood up from the wall and turned back to Malfoy's room. He could still hear the man crying, and every so often his voice would strain, calling out a name. Ron sighed heavily. He knew what he had to do. It was his job to take care of the wizards who were having problems. Like it or not, Malfoy was in need of help, even if it was nothing more than a sleeping potion.

Ron turned into Malfoy's room, the moonlight streaming through the old windows illuminating a figure hunched over on the bed. Ron could make out the distinct shape of Malfoy sitting at the head of his bed, his knees pulled up to his chest and his head buried in his lap. Ron wasn't prepared for the sudden tug he felt in his chest at the sight of the other man looking most pathetic. He was momentarily shocked at the image before him and the feelings it triggered inside.

Ron stood in the doorway, watching Malfoy, unsure of why exactly he wasn't moving or speaking, but doing neither all the same. Instead, he simply observed. He could see Malfoy's shoulders shake with the sobs that were spoiling the quiet of the room. Malfoy's white-blond hair hung limply over his face, same as it was just days earlier. In the thin nightclothes the hospital had given Malfoy, Ron could see just how skinny the man had gotten. In the moonlight and in this condition, Ron realized that Malfoy was just a shell of his former self. Though he could still act as he had in the past, he wasn't the same person.

Ron started to turn from the room, attempting to allow Malfoy some dignity in the situation, not wanting to give the man more reason to degrade him the next day. Before he left the room, Ron took a final glance back, wondering what exactly had destroyed Malfoy like this. As he did so, Malfoy looked up from his lap, his eyes barely visible behind the curtain of blond hair.

"Who's there?" Malfoy called out, his voice hoarse from crying.

Ron stood in the door, staring back into the room at the man on the bed. He could see Malfoy searching the dark entrance for somebody, unsure of exactly who had been watching him. Ron was trepid about speaking, afraid of the insults that would get thrown back at him. Instead, he continued to wait for Malfoy to call him out.

"I know you're there," Malfoy spoke, his voice carrying a hint of annoyance. "I can see you." He straightened out his legs, continuing to stare into the dark doorway, straining to see who was there.

Ron sighed, taking a step into the room, just outside the puddle of moonlight. He could feel his heart beating roughly in his chest. It was pounding in his ears, which he was sure were crimson.

"Weasley, is that you?" Malfoy guessed, his eyes settling on Ron, the man's red hair barely visible in the dark.

Ron let out another heavy breath. Pulling his wand from his pocket, he aimed it towards a lamp on the nightstand, lighting it. A warm glow from the flame spread around the room, illuminating Malfoy clearly and giving off enough light for Malfoy to see exactly who had been watching him.

"What are you doing in here, Weasley?" Malfoy asked, his lip curling up in disgust. "This is my room. My own. It's private. That means you stay out."

Ron fought off his own snide remark, despite the overwhelming urge lay into Malfoy at that moment. "I heard someone crying, screaming," Ron attempted to explain. "You sounded frightened. I assumed you were having a nightmare."

"Please," Malfoy turned from Ron, sliding off the bed. He slid his feet into a pair of worn slippers. "I don't have nightmares. And I. Don't. Cry."

Ron brushed off the anger rising to the surface. He pulled a vial out of his pocket, a sleeping potion just in case one of the patients woke up from a nightmare. "Here," Ron offered, stepping over to Malfoy. "Take this at least. It'll help you sleep." He held up the vial, offering it to Malfoy.

Malfoy looked down at the vial in Ron's hand and then to the man's face, making no attempt to take the vial from Ron. "I don't need that." He narrowed his eyes at Ron. "I'm fine."

"Like hell you are!" Ron burst. He threw the vial on the ground at Malfoy's feet, where it shattered, the potion splattering over the pair. "I know you're not fine! You were subjected to the Cruciatus Curse. Not just a little zap, but several minutes. No man experiences that and is fine. Especially one who receives it from the hands of his own bloody father!"

Malfoy's mouth dropped open at the last sentence Ron had spoken. Ron watched as he attempted to speak, but no words were coming out. His face turned red with frustration as he stumbled over the words that he wanted to say. "My father would never do such a thing!" Malfoy finally spat out.

"Oh?" Ron asked. "Then who did it? I heard you screaming just a few minutes ago. You weren't screaming out at Crabbe or Goyle. You were definitely not screaming at You-Know-Who. You were screaming at your father. Pleading with him. I heard you." Ron stepped closer to Malfoy. He was suddenly very close to him.

Malfoy glared up at Ron, his eyes burning with anger. "My father wouldn't hurt me," he said, his voice low.

"Well, that comes as a surprise to me," Ron spoke quickly, "Because he sure didn't have any qualms with attempting to kill an eleven year old girl. He didn't have any problems killing several innocent Muggles either. And he certainly didn't have a care when it came down to him and my friends!" Ron continued, his voice laced with a hint of bitterness. "No. Killing all those people weren't a problem to him. As long as it benefited his place at the right hand of You-Know-Who, I bet he wouldn't even think twice about killing his own son."

As Ron finished speaking, he felt a hard push to his chest. Before he realized it, Ron was sprawled out on the floor in front of Malfoy. He looked up at the blonde from the floor, realizing suddenly how far he had pushed the issue.

Malfoy glared down at Ron, who was prone on the floor. He seemed to be at a loss for words, his jaw working, like he wanted to speak. Ron could tell he was having a tough time with the emotions running through his mind, but that didn't cool him off any. He still wanted to strangle the life out of the spoiled brat.

"So what?" Malfoy spoke suddenly, his voice strained. "What if my father had done this to me? What's that have to do with anything?" He began pacing before Ron, wringing his hands together nervously. "I mean... It's not like he killed me or anything. I'm still here... Right?"

For the first time in his life, Ron looked at Malfoy and saw uncertainty instead of pride in his grey eyes. That image, more than anything, caused his heart to skip a beat.

Malfoy spoke up once more, cutting into Ron's thoughts, "And what do you know about family honor anyway? You are a Weasley after all. What could you possibly know about the bond between a father and a son? I can't blame you though. If I had a father like yours, I probably wouldn't keep in touch either."

Ron struggled to his feet as Malfoy spoke, his anger bubbling to the surface once more. "Don't you dare try to turn this around, Malfoy. This isn't about my family. It's about yours. Now tell me the truth. He did it, didn't he?" Ron brushed Malfoy's comments aside, fighting to keep his point.

"No," Malfoy's voice was quiet, shaky, but loud enough to be heard.

"He did," Ron prompted, stepping towards the bed.

Malfoy turned away from Ron, hiding his face from Ron's view. "Shut up, Weasley. I don't want to hear it."

Ron stiffened his back, his hands balling into fists. "You can't defend him any more! We both know that I'm telling the truth. And you still protect him. After all the things he's done. All the vicious, horrible, hideous things he's done. How in Merlin's name can you still defend him? Especially after what he's done to you?"

"Because he's my father!" Malfoy turned back to Ron, his eyes blazing with anger. "Because for all the evil things he has done, for all the pain he has caused, he is still my flesh and blood!"

Ron's gaze softened for a moment as he looked at Malfoy. "But where is his heart and soul, Draco?"

Malfoy sighed, collapsing on the bed. His last defenses crumbled before him, he was left with nothing. Ron watched as Malfoy was stripped of his hard exterior, revealing the man Ron knew from just moments ago, the broken down, defeated shell of who he used to be.

Ron settled on the bed, next to Malfoy, placing his hand on Malfoy's knee. "Tell me what happened."

"What's it matter any more?" Malfoy asked, sounding almost pathetic as he turned away from Ron. "Yes. It was him. He saw me on the battlefield, saw me fighting against his ranks. He took me aside, away from the action. Oh, Merlin, the pain. It was awful. Like a thousand razors slicing into my skin. I've never felt anything so agonizing in all my life. And from my own father. The one man I thought would never hurt me."

Ron held his breath as Malfoy spoke, the truth of the situation pressing on him like a lead weight.

Malfoy continued to speak, now that he had started, he couldn't hold it back. "He looked at me. His eyes are just like mine, the same shade of grey. It was almost like looking into my own eyes. And in his eyes I saw nothing. No emotion. They were cold. Heartless. Not even a hint of the love that I had hoped to see. He didn't even blink as he spoke the words to the Cruciatus Curse. Those were the last words I remember my father speaking." Malfoy paused to take a breath, his eyes shining in the flickering light.

Ron slid his hand over Malfoy's, "Are you okay?" He looked into Malfoy's eyes, concern filled his features.

Malfoy nodded slowly, breathing deeply. "The next thing I remember I was in the hospital looking up at you."

Ron attempted a smile. He wanted to ask Malfoy one question, the one that he had been burning to know since he first saw Malfoy in the ward. "Draco... Why exactly did you join Dumbledore's Army?" He bit his lip, hoping that he didn't ask for too much.

To Ron's surprise, Malfoy's cheeks turned a pale pink. "Promise you won't tell anyone else?" Malfoy asked quietly, as if he were trusting Ron with the most precious information.

Ron nodded, even more curious than before. "Yes, of course."

"Well..." Draco started, surprising even Ron with his trepidation. "I'm not exactly normal."

"Like how?" Ron asked, confused.

"I don't _like girls_ ," Malfoy whispered quickly.

Ron's eyes widened with surprise as he realized what Malfoy meant. Of all the things that would have changed Lucius Malfoy's mind about his son, Draco being gay was the last thing he had expected. _Though_ , Ron thought, _this bit of news does add an interesting twist to our relationship._

"So, were you excited to see me the morning you woke up?" Ron entwined his fingers with Malfoy's as he spoke.

Malfoy shook his head, glancing up at Ron. "No, not exactly..." He trailed off, turning his eyes to their intertwined fingers.

"Though I wasn't quite pleased at the idea of having to take care of your spoiled arse, you know." Ron offered Malfoy a mischievous smile.

"Whatever, Weasel," Malfoy pushed Ron over, a smile forming on his lips for the first time in years.

"Keep talking, Ferret Boy."


End file.
